


M.A.S.H

by hurricanesunny



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Jake's POV!! I'm trying new things, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-06 18:27:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11606403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hurricanesunny/pseuds/hurricanesunny
Summary: Jake and Jeremy pass the time trying to tell the future.





	M.A.S.H

“Okay, now. Get to your seats.”

The bell’s barely finished ringing before the teacher is standing up, clipboard in one hand and a pen in the other. His face reads nothing but business, sleep deprivation, and a poorly concealed wish for early retirement. Jake feels for the man. His job probably sucks ass. As the teacher starts to make his rounds, students scatter mid-conversation, hopping off tables and sliding into assigned seats before they’re marked absent. Jake shoots a quick reply to Rich with a slight flutter in his chest, tells him he’ll catch him later, then sets his phone face down in front of him. The entirety of third period study hall sits patiently, or at least tries to, as the teacher weaves in between each table, lazily checking off each name as he passes their section. Jake leans back for a moment, lacing his fingers together behind his head. The teacher’s eyes eventually land on him, the empty spot next to him, then down to the clipboard. A name is circled twice. He moves on. 

Alright. Let’s do this shit.

Sitting up straight, Jake grabs the edge of the table and pulls himself a little closer. He drags his backpack towards him and flips the flap over. A pencil rolls out and Jake catches it before it clatters onto the floor. He sets it to the side. Definitely will need that later. Tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth, Jake’s face scrunches up a bit as he reaches his arm into the bag and blindly digs through the contents. After pulling out a few loose papers from his guidance counselor and an abandoned bag of chips from yesterday’s lunch, Jake’s fingers land on a familiar glossy texture. He grins. 

Jackpot. 

Jake pulls out the textbook. Lucky for him, it’s one of his three math books. Doesn’t really matter which one. It’s all a ruse anyway. He opens it to a random page in the middle of a chapter they went over last semester and sets it upright on the table. The pages fan out a bit, making it impossible for him to read any of it, but it’s not like the teacher will be able to tell. Still, Jake frowns. Glancing up at the table near the front of the cafeteria, Jake adjusts the textbook’s position. A little to the left, then a little more. If he can get the angle juuust right… Perfect. Teacher-in-need-of-some-booze-and-a-break’s line of sight? Expertly thwarted once again by the one and only Jakey D. He’d high five himself if he was a little more smug.

Aw, what the hell. He does anyway.

“Mr. Dillinger,” a low voice warns. Jake shrinks a little in his letterman jacket, grinning sheepishly. The teacher sighs and goes back to his laptop.

Jake pulls out his binder next. Opening it in front of him, he smooths down the notes he had taken in class the period before. They weren’t really for him -- Christine usually looks them over once or twice during lunch before wolfing down her food and speeding off to her next club meeting.

Rich uses his notes too. Sorta. He always asks to go over them with Jake in one of the study rooms before school, but they never actually… get around to it. Jake can’t even remember the last time they managed to unzip their backpacks before being shooed off to first period. Most days they just end up talking about trivial shit. Nothing that really matters. Not that Jake minded or anything. Since the birth of the squad, it was one of the few times the two of them got to hang out alone at school. A part of Jake likes to think that’s why Rich always asks. Maybe he misses it too. Misses it the way Jake does. Misses it for the same reason Jake does. 

(“I’m glad you stayed.”

Jake almost laughs. “What?”

“I’m glad you stayed,” Rich says again. Jake can’t see his face, but the voice behind him is quiet. “You could have left but you didn’t.”

Jake’s fingers curl into the jacket in his lap. His neck is warm.

“Shit, Rich. No way I could leave you hangin’.”

They continue down the hallway.

“You’re my best friend.”)

Jake shakes his head. Nah, that’s dumb. Get over yourself, Dillinger. Shoving his thoughts aside, he turns the page. The next one is missing. Right, right. Michael never takes notes for any class, being the secret prodigy that he is, so he borrows what he needs to make flashcards and shit for Jeremy after school. Things naturally come easy to Mike, school clicks better than people for him, so sometimes it’s hard for him to explain things without it going right over someone’s head. It also doesn’t help that the poor dude already has trust issues with his own mouth and the words that come out of it. And Jeremy gets it, he gets Michael better than he gets math class for sure, but when it comes down to it Jer’s a real smart guy with poor testing skills and he kinda needs his hand held. 

Academically, of course.

So Michael found a solution. A frosted, hella hunk of a solution. Jake’s made note-taking his bitch since the eighth grade so Michael throws him a new pin every now and then, Jeremy’s atrocious math homework stops visiting Jake in his nightmares, and life is good.

(“Thanks again, man. You’re the best.”

“Homies helping homies,” Jake grins, thumbing his newest addition. It has “(√(-shit))²” with the words “shit just got real” underneath. He slips it into his pocket for safekeeping. Totally inappropriate for school. “This pin is tight, yo.” Michael shrugs, trying to play it off. But Jake can tell he’s relieved he thinks it’s cool.

“Anything for Jeremy.” 

His words have a familiar weight that Jake can never place.) 

And speak of the devil. 

Jeremy suddenly rushes through the open double doors, backpack slipping off one shoulder. Underestimating the velocity of which he had thrown himself into the cafeteria (Jake could probably calculate it with a couple more runs, he thinks,) Jeremy’s shoes squeak on the floor as he skids to a stop. It’s a nasty echo amidst deadly silence. Everyone looks up. Jake almost winces as Jeremy barely catches himself on the corner of a nearby table, rocking it slightly as he finally, finally comes to a full stop. The girl sitting there looks up from her sketchbook, glaring. Jake can see the hard swallow of Jeremy’s throat from across the room, the nervous smile as he tries to gesture a silent apology. Jeremy eventually settles on backing away towards the teacher’s table. 

Head tilted down and hand to the back of his neck, he mumbles what Jake presumes is an apology for being late. Digging in his pockets, Jeremy hastily pulls out a crumpled hall pass and pushes it into the teacher’s waiting hand. Peering over his glasses, the teacher studies the note, studies Jeremy’s face, then sets the pass down. Sighing, he ticks off Jeremy’s name and waves him off. Gripping his backpack strap tight, Jeremy gives a quick nod and hurries to his seat. Jake gives his best welcoming grin as Jeremy flops into his chair.

“What’s shakin’?” Jake whispers, leaning on his armrest. Jeremy grimaces.

“Other than me? Nothing much,” he mutters, shrugging off his backpack and setting it in his lap. He tugs at the zipper. Jake frowns. Dude seemed cool first period. Then again, English was his thing. Making a slight scene in front of thirty of his peers was… _also_ Jeremy’s thing, but not one he particularly enjoyed. Jake definitely knew something he did, though.

“Hey,” Jake says, punching Jeremy’s shoulder. His voice is low. “You bring the stuff?” Jeremy quickly glances up at the teacher. His fingers fumble with his backpack zipper. Still stuck. 

“Yea-yeah, I did.” He swallows. “Had to borrow from Michael though.”

Jake’s eyebrows raise. “For reals? He had extra just laying around?”

Jeremy exhales through his nose fast. Jake can almost see a smile. “No. I had to get it from his mom. She doesn’t trust him to keep track of anything anymore.”

Jake cracks a grin. “I can’t blame her. Dude asks me for a pencil every morning.” Jeremy turns to him, deadpan.

“Welcome to my freaking life.”

They both smile.

On the fourth try, Jeremy finally gets his backpack unzipped. He pulls out a corresponding math textbook and places it to his left, opened to a page that definitely doesn’t match Jake’s. He then places his math binder in front of him. Next up to bat: the “stuff.” Jeremy sets a fistful of pens and pencils on the table, careful not to make too much noise. Different colors, different types. Jake tsks in his head. It’s a damn shame Michael can’t (won’t) keep track of any of his school supplies. His parents apparently get the _good shit_. He’d kill for a few soft lead pencils like that for his scratch work. Those mechanical pencils look real fucking nice too.

“I should’ve known you didn’t get these straight from Mike.” He picks up a pencil and examines it. Ticonderoga. “No bite marks. And a usable eraser.” Jeremy snorts.

“He doesn’t need the eraser. Except for art class, maybe,” Jeremy mumbles. He sounds… almost proud. Jeremy places his calculator on the table. Lines it up parallel to his binder.

“Well, I need ‘em, man. I keep telling him not to chew on pencils he plans on giving me back.” Probably why Michael never gives any back, Jake realizes far too late. He points the pencil at Jeremy. “Does he pull that woodchuck routine on you too, or is this unfair treatment in the bro-place?” 

Jeremy raises an eyebrow. “Bro-place?” 

“Bro workplace. Bro-place. Try to keep up, Heere.”

Jeremy rolls his eyes and turns his attention back to his backpack. “I, I mean, yeah. Yeah, he does. But, I don’t mind or anything.” He pulls something out. “He does it ‘cuz he needs to. It’s whatever. Even if I’m absolutely mortified any time someone else asks to borrow a pencil from me.” Jake rests his elbow on the table, his chin nestled in his palm. His grin is kind. 

“That’s really nice of you, man.”

“Shut up.”

The tips of Jeremy’s ears are red. Jake could start a pretty sick fire with those bad boys. Maybe drop a mixtape. He almost tells Jeremy that, he’d probably get a nervous laugh or a huffy push, but then he sees the weird look on Jeremy’s face as he glances at Jake. The way his eyes meet his, just for a second, but it’s clear that Jeremy’s mind is roaming the art room now, studying colors and shades and the curves of certain boys’ smiles under yellow lights. 

It’s kinda like looking in a mirror. 

So Jake keeps his mouth shut.

Jeremy places his backpack on the ground and gently kicks it under his seat. The last item needed is in his hand. It’s a notebook, one of the big ones. College ruled, five subjects, divider tabs. The works, pretty much. And it’s blue. Duh. It had been an extra one Jeremy had sitting in his locker all last semester. It’s dog-eared at one corner and pen spirals litter the front. The cover was originally going to say ‘STUDY SHIT.’ Jake had even picked out the perfect markers for the job. But Jeremy had immediately shut that party down, whining about what his dad or teachers would say if they saw it. So, instead, the notebook neatly reads ‘Study Notes - Jeremiah Heere.’ Below it, a reluctant ‘and Jacob Dillinger,’ scribbled in thin handwriting.

(“Jacob?”

“Jeremiah?”

“Okay, yeah.”)

“Something borrowed, something blue,” Jake muses, mostly to himself, and Jeremy fidgets in his seat. Jake watches as he flips the notebook open. On the inside cover is two columns. Jake’s name on one side, Jeremy on the other. The tiny tally marks underneath each name are neck in neck. On the first page reads ‘TIC-TAC-TOE (bee-yoootch).’ 

“So, what’s it going to be today?” Jeremy asks. He keeps his voice low, just in case. The teacher thinks Jake tutors Jeremy during their study hall, but Jeremy hates doing his homework at school and Jake would just want to do it for him because it’s so damn _fun_. So they’re allowed to talk, but they still try to be careful. No point in screwing up this good thing they had going. “We haven’t done Tic-Tac-Toe in a while, but I thought you were actually getting pretty good at Hangman.”

“Getting? Dude, you can never guess my words.”

Jeremy’s face scrunches up. “You pick the weirdest shit, man. How am I supposed to guess 'borborygmus?'”

“Aw, dude. That’s easy.”

“'Callipygian?'”

“Wouldn’t you say Mike has a callipygian figure?” Jake’s never really bothered to check, but he also knows Jeremy’s never bothered to Google any of this shit either. Where else does he think Jake gets these obscure ass words? It’s a harmless way to fuck with the dude.

“I still don’t know what that means, but I’m sure if I did my response would be “fuck you.” Jeremy glares at him as he flips past the Tic-Tac-Toe and Hangman sections. There’s no malice in his face. “So, fuck you.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Jake agrees, twirling the pencil in his free hand. Jeremy snorts. “Maybe you just need to stop giving me baby words. Stump me for once.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Jeremy lands on the Categories section. He points to it, turning to look at Jake. Jake shakes his head.

“We can never think of anything for “Z” other than that one sophomore’s backpack.” Jake jerks his head in the direction of a nearby table. “And Zebra Print Girl’s not here today.”

“Fuck, you’re right,” Jeremy mutters. He flips to the last written section. “Feeling up to Dots and Boxes?” The uninterested tone in Jeremy’s voice answers for Jake. He speaks anyway.

“Eh. Not really.” Jake’s elbow slides on the table until his head is resting in the crook of his arm instead. He sighs. “This blows.” They had never had trouble with picking a game before. Jeremy frowns, flipping to the last subject divider. The pages are all blank. He looks at Jake.

“I dunno, man. You know any other games? We could start a new section.”

Jake thinks for a moment. 

Jeremy would probably hate Sprouts. MLine might be fun, but if Jeremy’s hand starts shaking he might get embarrassed if he messes up and Jake doesn’t want to put his bro in that sorta situation. Paper Soccer would be dope; he has graph paper in his bag (Jake _always_ has graph paper in his bag) which would make setting it up easy. But Jeremy’s a little anal about the notebook staying organized and Jake honestly can’t sit through him cutting each game out and gluing them onto each individual paper. Suddenly, Jeremy sets the notebook down and reaches into his sweater pocket. He pulls out his phone, checking it under the table. Jake looks up at him expectantly. 

“Group chat,” he whispers, swiping on the notification. Curious, Jake pulls his own phone towards him and flips it over. Sure enough, his screen is lit up. Jake reads the notification. Chloe’s responded to the group chat about this weekend’s plans. Fashionably late, per usual.

Wait. Chloe.

Jake lifts his head. “Have you ever played M.A.S.H.?”

Jeremy frowns. “What?”

Jake sits up and urges Jeremy to hand him the notebook with a gesture of his hands. Jeremy obliges, scooting his chair a little closer as Jake flips to the next page and picks up a pencil. Nose inches from the paper, he draws a rectangle horizontally. Jeremy tilts his head in silent questioning as Jake writes ‘M.A.S.H.’ above the rectangle in big, thin letters.

Chloe had showed Jake how to play M.A.S.H. back when they had first started dating. That was years ago. Sixth grade? Yeah, sixth grade sounds about right. He doesn’t know how many summer nights he spent laying under the fairy lights of Chloe’s canopy bed, quietly circling names and crossing out car models as Brooke and Chloe painted and repainted their nails in front of the box fan. But it had been a lot. He was pretty good at it.

“Okay, so pretty much this is the kinda shit tween girls play in middle school, but girls are boss and we’re bored as fuck, so. Any objections?” Jeremy shakes his head fast.

“Girls are pretty, uh, boss.”

“Cool. So keepin’ it short, this game is supposed to “tell your future.” Up here? The letters stand for mansion, apartment, shack, and house.” Jake runs the pencil alongside the other three sides of the rectangle. “Around here, we put different categories. Just the basics will do for now.” He writes each one as he says it. “Spouse… kids… car… pets... and job. There. With me so far?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, what we’ll do now is put, shit, I dunno, four options under each category. There should be at least one you really want and one you kinda don’t. Makes it fair or whatever. So, gimme the deets, Jer.” He looks up at Jeremy. “Four homies you might wanna get homey with.” 

Jeremy stares at the piece of paper, avoiding eye contact. Jake can see his hands in his lap, twisting and tugging at the hem of his sweater. Jeremy’s suddenly nervous as fuck. Jake almost tells him that they can skip that section for now, or maybe he’ll just pick for him, no biggie, but Jeremy finds his words again and speaks.

“Uh, Chris-Christine, I guess. I don’t, we don’t like each other like that anymore, but I love her. She’s great.” Jeremy swallows hard. “That wouldn’t be a bad way to spend my life.” Jake nods once, hopes the gesture’s a little reassuring, then writes Christine’s name on the paper. He wasn’t expecting Jeremy to put that much thought into it, but then again, the last time he played this was with twelve year olds without the heavy weight of high school feelings on their mind.

This might get interesting.

“Okay, who else?”

Jeremy loops a loose thread from his sweater around his finger, then yanks it hard. “Michael.” He says nothing else.

Jake, suddenly feeling he’s been casually entrusted with a confirmation, doesn’t wait for an explanation. He doesn’t need it. Jake writes Michael’s name down.

“Two more, homeslice.”

“I, I don’t really know. Should I just pick our friends?” 

“That works,” Jake shrugs. He hopes he sounds casual. Jake doesn’t want to spook Jeremy back into emotional hiding. After a quick mental debate, he writes down Jenna’s name. Jeremy and Chloe are pretty cool now, but it’s still a work in progress. They’re getting there. No need to bring up what doesn’t need to be brought up. And Jeremy’s still touchy about Brooke. Jake doesn’t think he’s ever gonna fully forgive himself for hurting her, which at least shows that Jeremy’s a real baller dude deep down. Still, Jake hopes he does one day. Brooke seems to have.

“Rich?” Jeremy’s whisper shifts an octave, snapping Jake out of his thoughts. Jeremy looks from Rich’s name on the list to Jake. He frowns. “But, aren’t you, like--” Jeremy closes his mouth. Jake watches for the next several seconds as Jeremy proceeds to do a pretty killer interpretation of a fish out of water. Eventually, Jeremy’s lips settle on forming a grim line of “is this a thing we should, like, openly acknowledge at some point or would it be better to just pretend we haven’t noticed our respective Rich-and-Michael-shaped elephants in the room?”

Or, at least, that’s what Jake’s picking up here.

“Give him a good life,” Jake finally says, and if the words come out a little sad he really couldn’t tell you why. Jeremy crosses his arms on the table, resting his head on top of them. Jake glances at him as he moves on to the other categories. Jeremy’s staring at him. He looks a little sad too.

Homies being homies, pining after other homies.

Just another day in study hall.

After a couple minutes, the rest of the board is filled out. Jake taps his pencil against the notebook. “Okay, you need to close your eyes now.” Jeremy blinks.

“Uh, okay.”

Jake starts drawing a spiral inside the rectangle, small at first. “Tell me when to stop.”

“...Stop?”

Jake draws a line straight through the spiral, then starts counting each intersection. “Okay, so the magic number here is eight.” He writes the number next to the spiral. He glances at Jeremy, makes sure he’s still with him. “So, pretty much, I’m gonna start at “mansion” and go clockwise around the rectangle, marking off every eighth item. Once there’s only one left in a list, I circle that shit and that’s what you’re stuck with. Capiche?” 

“Yeah.”

Jake hums, just barely, as he finishes the game. Jeremy waits quietly as Jake’s pencil scratches against the paper. His fingers are curled into the folds of his sweater sleeve as his half-covered face watches Jake’s movements. Still nervous.

“Okay, here we go.” Jake slides the notebook towards Jeremy. He leans over to explain. “So, looks like you’re gonna be sharing an apartment with Mike.” He points to Michael’s name, circled several times, then to the capital A still standing. “Not bad so far.”

“That’s our plan, anyway,” Jeremy mumbles. His eyes are still on Michael’s name.

“Was it your plan to get hitched too?” Jeremy makes an unintelligible noise. Jake moves on. “You’re gonna own a Slug Bug. If you think you’ve got no makeout room in a Cruiser, I got bad news for ya, buddy.” Jeremy snorts, despite himself. “You’re gonna have a pet lizard. I’ve already come up with several gnarly names, if you’re ever in the market. I can even promise that only half of them involve naming it after me.” Jake pauses. “The other half are named after Rich. I should be honest.”

“Wait, what kind of lizard?”

“Fuck, I dunno.”

“But how am I supposed to know what lizard we’re supposed to get?”

“Dude, it’s not like this thing actually tells the future.”

Jeremy pauses. “Keep going.”

“Well, you’re gonna be a lawyer.”

“A lawyer?”

“Yeah, man. Bringin’ home the big bucks for your hubby to spend on arcade emulators and shitty weed. Sounds like a dream.”

“I can’t be a lawyer.”

“Sure you can.”

“Dude, there’s no way in hell I can be a _lawyer_.”

“I dunno, you got the arguing part down pretty well.”

“Ha, ha.”

Jake points to the last section. “So, as our tour into the future unfortunately draws to a close, if you look to your left you’ll see that you’re not gonna have any children.” Jeremy sits straight up.

“What?”

“Zilch, man. Nada. No ‘lil rugrats in your foreseeable future.”

“That’s bullshit,” Jeremy says. No, he _huffs_. Jake almost wants to warn him to keep his voice down but the sight in front of him is fucking hilarious. Jeremy Heere getting red in the face because he might not have lots of babies with the boy finger-painting with Christine upstairs.

“Them’s the breaks, bro. Maybe you’ll be gayer next time around,” Jake says instead, because he’s already told Jeremy once that this wasn’t for real. Might as well have a little fun. Jeremy responds by flipping the page and starting a new game. His lines are more slanted than Jake’s, but his handwriting is better. “Is this game for me?” Jake asks. Jeremy nods fast, unruly curls bouncing up and down. Jake waits for him to ask the questions, but in a few seconds Jeremy is apparently already done. He holds the notebook up to his chest so Jake can read it.

The paper has a simple rectangle with ‘RICH’ written smack dab in the middle. It’s been circled with a lop-sided heart. Jeremy’s cheeks are still red, eyes still nervous, but there’s a shit-eating grin plastered on his face that reminds Jake (far too late) that Jeremy Heere has a snarky underside that always tends to sneak the hell up on you. Jake almost screeches, keyword _almost_ , as he knocks the notebook down into Jeremy’s lap. The teacher looks up from his laptop, but the boys stay perfectly still and he remains none the wiser.

“ _Dude_ ,” Jake finally breathes, feeling uncomfortably warm under the collar.

Jeremy snorts. “At least I didn’t write it on your backpack.” He reaches below him and pulls it up for reference. The ‘BOYF’ is starting to fade again. Rich will no doubt do his usual touch up by the end of the week. Jeremy drops it back on the ground. “It’s almost cruel at this point.” He takes the notebook off his lap and flips it back to the first game. Jeremy’s finger trails the lines, resting on that name again. He doesn’t look up from the page. “We should play again. Roll for a better future.”

“Sure, man. I feel like it’ll get a little redundant after a while but I’m down for whatever.” Jeremy flips to the next blank page and starts to hand the notebook back to Jake, but the bell suddenly rings. As the cafeteria soon descends into loud chaos, they look at each other.

“Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow’s good.”

~ ~ ~

It’s Thursday and Jake has never been so relieved to be heading to the auditorium.

Okay, that sounds a little mean. And also a little like bullshit. It’s not like he _minds_ going to Drama Club during third period in the first place. It’s Mr. Reyes’ free period on Thursdays and it’s cool getting to see Rich, Jeremy, Rich, Chloe, and Rich. Did he mention Rich?

Jake likes seeing Rich.

Anyway, it’s pretty lax. They usually just work on the set or something. If Christine had this hour free, she’d probably make them go over their lines and actually accomplish things in a timely manner like the fierce little play director she is. But she doesn’t, so they don’t do shit. Just enough to keep the hall passes coming and the rest of the cast happy.

But while it’s not the worst setup, Jake’s definitely looking forward to it a little more than usual.

He just doesn’t know how many more games of M.A.S.H. he can take.

Don’t get him wrong. Jake thought it was kinda cute at first. That notebook was probably the first and only place Jeremy felt comfortable enough to even consider secret matters of the heart. And Jake gets that. He totally gets it. He’d be a dirty liar if he said he didn’t feel a flutter in his chest when he heard Jeremy whisper that he’d be living with Rich and their massive herd of axolotls. Jake didn’t even care that they’d be cooped up in a small little shack or that they’d be cruising around town in some old clunker.

Ah, yes, okay. That’s where the problem lies. Jake doesn’t care about getting a perfect game.

Jeremy?

Jeremy may care a little.

It had started out harmless enough. Jeremy had been lucky his first few games. Sometimes the job was wrong, sometimes the children (always the children,) but at the end of the day Michael was his blushing bride and Jake could tell by the way Jeremy gripped the paper in his hands that the dude was already waiting at the altar. Probably had been for a while. 

But then it turned south. Way fucking south.

(“Writer.”

“Cool.”

“Five kids.”

“That’s fine, I guess.”

Jake makes a face. “Five kids, Jer.”

“It was the lowest number I put.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it was, man.”

“Shh. Keep going.”

“Uh, shit. Okay, you live in a house with a Porsche in the driveway.”

It’s Jeremy’s turn to make a face. “Michael thinks they’re overrated.”

“Well, good thing you’re not marrying Mike,” Jake says casually. He taps the circled name. “You and Christine are going to have some beautiful fucking babies.” 

Jake expected a frown. A huff, maybe?

He did not expect the notebook pulled from underneath his hand, or the look in Jeremy’s eyes as he quickly scanned to double check Jake’s work. After confirming that, yes, in this 28th alternate universe that Secret God Jacob Dillinger had apparently created with his bare goddamn hands, Jeremy would not be marrying Michael, he drops the notebook onto Jake’s decoy homework. He’s red in the face and pouting big time.

“I want to redo my turn,” Jeremy says, and Jake almost has to remind himself that he’s got at least eighty pounds on Jeremy and could definitely take him out in self-defense if need be.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay. Sure.”

Jeremy got Michael this time.)

By Wednesday, Jeremy had been handling the ‘failed’ futures a little better. The second he was destined to marry someone else, though, he would suddenly lose interest in the results. Each comment from Jake was met with an incoherent grunt as Jeremy scribbled on his math binder. After a few games of this piss poor attitude, Jake had asked if maybe he wanted to play something else. He’d even lay off on the ridiculous words for Hangman. But Jeremy shook his head each time. And so they kept playing.

But today was Thursday, today they all had to work on props, and today Jake could finally enjoy Jeremy’s company again without him hounding him about the game. Or so he hoped.

Jake takes a sharp turn around the corner, heading down the first floor hall. He has a few minutes until the second bell’s gonna ring and he doesn’t want to be late. Mr. Reyes will definitely use it as an excuse for a break, and nobody wants to deal with that today. A few kids wave to him as he passes and Jake makes sure to take one hand off his wheels to shoot a finger gun back to each one. He may be running late, but there’s no need for him to be an ass.

Soon enough Jake reaches the main doors that lead into the back of the auditorium. He’d usually use the stage door next to the music rooms, but they had finished painting the set before school that morning and who knew if it had finished drying yet. Jake leans forward far, grabbing the door and pulling it open. It’s usually propped open, but it’s no biggie. He awkwardly wheels himself in with one hand, keeping the door open enough for him to fit through with the other. As the door closes behind him, Jake looks up. Jeremy’s standing a few feet ahead, hidden in the dark. Jake wheels up to him and nudges his side.

“What’s up, man?” Jake asks, but his eyes are already following Jeremy’s line of sight. 

At the front of the auditorium, headphones blaring, is Michael. He’s bobbing his head to the music under the spotlight, hips lazily swaying side to side as he makes his way up and down the set. A familiar red hoodie’s hanging off the edge of the stage, temporarily abandoned. A camera’s in his hands. Probably belongs to Yearbook Club, based off the lanyard swinging around Michael’s neck. Every now and then he’ll lazily lift the camera up to one open eye and snap another shot, never missing a beat in his steps. After each flash he lets it fall against his chest, caught by its strap as he turns on his heel and snaps his fingers. Rinse and repeat. The whole execution looks sloppy, but Jake’s seen Michael’s pictures. They’re pretty damn amazing. Dude knows what he’s doing. 

And the kid can dance.

Okay, yeah. The super dopey look on Jeremy’s face makes a little sense now. How long has he been standing here, anyway? Michael’s too wrapped up in the music destroying his eardrums to notice the two boys watching his little solo performance on stage. Or the second bell ringing just outside. Jake’s about to wheel down the aisle, tugging Jeremy along with if he has to, but a booming voice appears behind him.

“Mr. Mell! With moves like that, you really should have auditioned for this spring’s musical.”

Michael stops dead in his tracks, fingers frozen on his headphones. He looks like a deer caught in headlights and desperately wishing for impact as Mr. Reyes steps between Jake and Jeremy and heads down the aisle, hands clasped behind his back. 

“Come along now. You’ll be late for class,” Mr. Reyes says, motioning him down. With the grace of a panicked rabbit, Michael pushes his headphones down around his neck and scoops up his hoodie. Tugging the hood over his head, Michael jumps off the stage, his hoodie flying behind him like a dope little polar bear cape. He winces as his backpack hits his back upon landing, but nothing probably beats the pain of dark red embarrassment flushed across his face. Jake’s almost surprised he hasn’t keeled over from a heart attack yet. Shoving his hand into his pocket, Michael hands his crumpled hall pass to Mr. Reyes. His eyes stay trained on the floor.

Two dudes of a feather.

“I look forward to seeing your pictures,” Mr. Reyes says with a rare smile, initialing the pass with a flourish. He hands it back to Michael. “Now, get going. My cast needs their concentration.” Michael doesn’t need to be told twice. He practically runs up the aisle, head down, one hand on Jake’s shoulder and the other gripping the inside of Jeremy’s elbow as a silent greeting before disappearing behind them.

“Sick moves, bro!” a voice calls behind Jake, and he almost feels his heart leap out of his chest. Has he mentioned how much he likes that voice?

“Don’t be a dick, Rich,” Chloe says between pops of her bubblegum. She doesn’t look up from her phone. Jake feels a familiar weight lean on the back of his chair. Rich’s breath is warm on his neck as he laughs. God, this is what he gets for making fun of Jeremy practically drooling next to him, isn’t it?

“Hey, Jakey D. How’s my main man doing?” 

“Better now that you’re here, dude.” Jake jerks his thumb towards Jeremy, who seems to have finally snapped out of it and is following Mr. Reyes down to the stage. Chloe follows him close behind. “I was third-wheeling a pretty major Boyfs moment just now.” Rich laughs again and Jake wonders if he could get Rich to laugh like that forever. It sounds so good on him.

“Shit, I’m a little pissed I missed it. I’m running out of material. Soon I’m gonna have to go back to yelling ‘gay’ at them in the parking lot.” Rich flicks the back of Jake’s neck. “Want a break?”

“Sure,” Jake says, and Rich starts to push him towards the stage. Jake leans back in the chair, looking up at Rich. He barely stops himself from counting the freckles on Rich’s nose. He got to 36 once.

“What?” Rich asks. His eyebrows scrunch up just the slightest.

“Nothin’,” Jake says, shaking his head as he faces back front. He’s a little glad Rich is almost always behind him. One of these days Jake’s not going to be able to bite back his smile, and Rich will take one look at him and know. 

He’ll definitely know.

The two of them go the long way around, up the ramp and through backstage. Chloe and Jeremy apparently made a run to the props closet because the vanities are already covered in random shit. Chloe’s on one end, sifting through a box of dinnerware. Jeremy’s sitting next to her, organizing silverware. At Jake’s gesture, Rich parks his chair next to Jeremy and runs off to the closet, swiping the props key on his way out. Jake starts digging through Jeremy’s box. The room is quiet except for the music playing from Chloe’s phone, but Jeremy eventually speaks up. His voice is low near Jake’s ear.

“Dude, you wanna M.A.S.H. later?” Jake’s about to roll his eyes and tell Jeremy that the game isn’t going anywhere, and frankly Michael’s going nowhere either, but he’s interrupted by another voice chiming in.

“What’d you just say?” Rich asks, dropping a box of feather boas on the ground.

“Uh, um--” Jeremy starts. His eyes flick between Jake and Rich. He probably doesn’t want to mention it to Rich in fear of the truth finally being confirmed, but he also doesn’t want to lie to Rich. Mostly because Rich will definitely figure it out anyway. The Great Goranski Conundrum. 

Fortunately and unfortunately for everyone, Rich misheard the fuck out of Jeremy.

“You guys banging?”

“ _What?_ ” Jeremy yelps, and Jake’s face probably matches his voice. Chloe looks up from the chipped china plate in her hands. She looks at each one of the boys, frowning. Probably debating on whether to get involved or not. After a moment, she shakes her head and goes back to her task.

Good choice, Chlo. Jake kinda wishes he had that choice right now.

“You just asked Jake if he wanted to smash later,” Rich says, pointing to each of them. His voice is oddly deadpan. “So when’d that, uh, happen?”

Jake has to be careful here. He doesn’t want to fervently deny anything between him and Jeremy, because Jer’s a good guy and if Jake was in that position he might feel a little shitty if someone seemed so freaked about being romantically tied with him.

But, on the other hand, he doesn’t want Rich to think he’s interested in anyone but him. But he also doesn’t really want Rich to find out right now that he’s interested in _him_.

Fuuuck.

“It didn’t,” Jeremy says, fumbling with the forks in his hand. The words come out fast. “It hasn’t. It, it won’t. Jake’s into, into short guys. Real short guys. Reaaal short.” Jeremy’s head bobs up and down, a serious look on his face as he avoids Rich’s gaze. A fork slips out of his grasp, clattering on the ground. Jeremy doesn’t pick it up. “So you, or, or no one, really, has to worry about me taking Jake off the market. The single market. Because, because I’m tall. Or wha-whatever.” Jeremy’s brain finally catches up with his mouth and with a strangled gasp he finally shuts up. 

Jake almost drags his hands down his face. God, he loves Jeremy, but Jesus _Christ_. 

“Oh my God, chill, Jerm. I believe you, buddy.” Rich puts his hands in front of his chest, but there’s definite relief in his voice. Jake holds onto that observation, tucks it in his pocket for later. “So, like, what’d you actually say then?” Jeremy grabs another handful of silverware. 

“I asked Jake if he wanted to play M.A.S.H. tomorrow,” he grumbles.

“God, you’re playing M.A.S.H. again?” Chloe finally pipes in, pointing a candlestick holder at Jake. She looks amused. “You were always so totally in love with that dumb game.”

Jake rolls his eyes. “It’s a way to pass the time.”

“I’m surprised you’ve gotten through one game.” She turns to Jeremy. “You’ve gotten through one game, right?” Jeremy nods, a little confused. Chloe laughs, dropping the candlestick holder back in the box. “That’s impressive. Jakey here used to cram, like, twenty categories into every round. He had his entire wedding planned out and everything.” Picking up the box, she walks past the boys and pauses in the doorway. “It was sad, but a little cute too.”

“Chlooooo,” Jake groans. He can still hear her laughing as her footsteps fade away.

“Wait,” Jeremy turns to Jake. His eyes are bright. “You can play with more categories?”

Oh, goddammit.

~ ~ ~

“Hey, Christine.”

Christine turns away from setting up her half-finished painting and breaks into a contagious smile when she sees Jake. “Oh, hi! What are you doing here? Not that you can’t be here or anything, of course, but it’s such a nice surprise to see you down here because I wasn’t expecting it!” From behind the easel, Jake sees Michael’s face lean into view. He gives a short wave from his perch on the stool. Christine giggles. “I should say _we_ weren’t expecting it.” 

“Brooke said you had an extra notebook you’d let me borrow? Jer and I are in desperate need of some free paper before third period starts.” 

“Oh, sure! One sec.” Christine picks up her backpack from the floor and rummages through it. She pulls out a plain red notebook and hands it to Jake. “Don’t worry about returning it! I don’t need it.” Jake smiles.

“Thanks, Chris. Your painting’s looking killer, by the way.” He shoots a thumbs up in Michael’s direction. “Doing good, Mike. Keep up the good work.”

“Thanks, man!”

“Mi- _chael_ ,” Christine huffs. “You need to stay still now that I’m painting!”

“Sorry, sorry.”

Jake leaves the two to their own devices and reaches the cafeteria just as the second bell rings. Jeremy’s waiting for him at their seats, fingers tapping impatiently on the table.

“You’re not late for once,” Jake whispers as he slides his chair into place.

“Yeah, but you are. Did you get it?”

“Sure did.” Jake sets the notebook on the table. “But like I said. This is our last game.”

It’s been three weeks since Chloe ruined Jake’s study hall and enlightened Jeremy to the wonders of advanced M.A.S.H. And yeah, Jake’s played a few games here and there, but that’s not the point. Jake’s done his homework and he’s going to end this once and for all.

“Yeah, whatever,” Jeremy says, almost like he doesn’t believe Jake. “Let’s get started.” His frown deepens as Jake shakes his head.

“Nah, man. I’m filling this one out for you.”

Jeremy impatiently scribbles on the corner of his math homework while Jake works on the game in front of him. He glances over at Jake every now and then, but Jake’s arm is blocking his line of sight. Eventually, he gives up. Jeremy’s on his sixth game of Tic-Tac-Toe with himself when Jake finally sits up.

“Okay. You ready?”

Jeremy sighs, but there’s a hint of nervousness that wasn’t there before. “Whatever, dude.”

Jake sets his pencil down and begins to read off the sheet, elaborating a little on his short notes. His voice is soft. “You’re going to marry Michael sometime after college. He’ll propose because you know you’ll get too freaked about the whole damn thing and mess something up. Mike will probably forget which pocket the ring’s in but you’ll both be way too fucking happy to care. It’ll be on your sixth year anniversary, granted you start dating this year. Rich will cry the moment you tell everyone. He won’t stop crying until after your wedding. You slow dance to the mix CDs you made each other in middle school and your honeymoon was supposed to be Comic Con as a joke to piss off Chloe but it totally is anyway.” He glances at Jeremy. His eyes are wide. So far, so good. Jake points his pencil to the next category. 

“You’ll live in some shitty apartment because you romanticize millennial poverty for some whack reason, but the rent is cheap and you still live close enough to everyone else because you’re gay for your friends and we’re all really fuckin’ gay for you too. This apartment’s in town, but you’ll probably move to NYC the second you catch your big break and Mike thinks he can handle Times Square for more than five seconds. You’ll have a cat and it’ll hate Brooke and Chloe’s dog but you’ll offer to dogsit for them every other weekend anyway.” He taps the next list.

“Speaking of your big break, you’re gonna be an actor. All up on Broadway and shit, right alongside Christine fucking Canigula if she manages to keep interest in the same job for more than a few months. Michael codes, or maybe he plays music, or maybe he’s your stay-at-home dad because you have more kids than anyone can ever keep track of. No one can ever really tell what’s going on in his head 100% of the time, not even you, but that’s what you love about him. You make enough money to move into a bigger place, a condo or some shit because you’re allergic to the real fiscal responsibility of owning a house. It’s okay, though. We still throw the gnarliest parties when the kiddos are out of town.” Jake hears Jeremy snort behind his hands. His face is completely red, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“You still have that godawful PT Cruiser. I mean, yeah, you have another car, a minivan or some shit for your village of tots. But the Cruiser’s still standing and everyone’s honestly a little surprised Michael hasn’t smashed the windows in himself. Nostalgia’s a bitch.” Jake skims the rest of the board. “I could go into more detail here, like the fact that you want your first kid to be named after your dad or that you think orange cats are the best types of cats, but--” Jake slides the notebook over to Jeremy --”I think you already know all this shit. And it may not turn out the way I just said it, but who the fuck knows. Anything could happen.” Jeremy picks up the notebook, swallowing hard. “So? How’d I do, homeslice?”

“It’s… it’s perfect,” Jeremy whispers. Without looking away from the paper, he gestures for a pencil. Jake, a little confused, gives one to him. He watches as Jeremy turns the page and starts writing. His hands are a little shaky, but he keeps going.

“Dude, what’s up?” Jake asks, almost laughing.

“Do you want kids one day, or do you think you and Rich would be better off as uncles? Because I, I can see Rich renting out a shitty Santa suit every Christmas like some off brand mall Santa. Dirty beard and everything.” Jeremy pauses. “And probably telling my kids he’s Hanukkah Santa or some shit.”

Jake reminds himself that he’s Jake Dillinger and not some flustered schoolgirl as he feels his skin prickle with heat. He scrambles to grab the notebook out of Jeremy’s hands, who lets him take it without a fight. Jake sets the notebook down in front of him and reads the start of Jeremy’s game for him. He bites his lip. Jake’s not sure if he can handle any more of these ‘what if’s.’ He's not like Jeremy, who seems to find comfort in them. Jake's just had too many ‘what if’s’ for too long. He could really use some ‘when’s right about now. Some ‘yes’s. Maybe even a ‘no’ would be fine in the end. At least he'd know.

Jake looks at Jeremy’s face. He doesn't know it, but he could probably use them too.

“You want to try a new game with me? I’ve only ever played it once.” Jake turns the notebook to a fresh page and clicks his pen open. He hopes he sounds fine, that he sounds calm and collected like usual because he’s feeling a little nervous now. And if he gets nervous, they’re both screwed. Jeremy blinks, a slight frown on his face.

“Um, sure. What’s it called?” Jake takes a deep breath.

“Asking out your crush.”

Jeremy’s eyes widen. Jake expects him to say no, almost wishes for him to say no because then Jake would have an out and they can go back to denying and denying and denying, but Jeremy eventually smiles. It’s a small one. A nervous one. A very doubtful one. But maybe, just maybe they’re not totally screwed just yet.

“Okay,” Jeremy finally says. 

“How do you play?”

**Author's Note:**

> ambiguous ending is ambiguous. this is just a one-shot so THE END
> 
> that boyfs essay jake babbled is just one of many, many, MANY variations of how i see future boyfs. i have too many thoughts about the kids' futures and i will write a million fics one day regarding each and every single one
> 
> ☀️ please kudos and/or comment to let me know what you think! ☀️


End file.
